


Permission

by Davechicken



Series: The Pilot and his Knight [4]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 19:16:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6127327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe decides it's about time he asks a question. Which means another question. And another...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Permission

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shadow_Side](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Side/gifts).



Poe is nervous. The kind of nervous that makes your stomach do fifteen barrel rolls before breakfast. The kind of nervous that’s like _checking to see if you passed your flight school exams_ even though you know you **should have** , you’re still petrified you _won’t_ , because this thing - this thing is SO important. It’s like the sine qua non - without it, your whole world just doesn’t make sense. 

Loving Kylo has been like that, from day one. Except loving Kylo didn’t come with instruction manuals. There were no relationship-sims for loving a beautifully fucked up Force-user. No lists of what button to press to even out the jetstream. No dash full of controls telling him precisely where he was, where he was going, and how much fuel he had left. Instead, it’s been lying flying by the seat of your pants. Flying in a craft you don’t really understand, and trying to gauge by the feedback in the joystick if you needed to punch it, pull up, or just coast it out. 

If his previous relationships have been X-Wings, then Kylo is like flying a Star Destroyer worth of impact and potential and deadly arsenal, coupled with the hair-trigger responsiveness of a TIE. Touch just slightly and the whole thing _turns_ , and fills the sky, and is impossible not to both admire and _fear_.

But Poe knows he couldn’t ever do it without him. Life, that is. Not by choice. Despite all their shared past on other sides of the fence, now they’re both fighting the same fight, and now he - now he _knows_ who the man is, underneath that damned mask he still sometimes insists on wearing… now he knows _who_ Kylo Ren is… He just doesn’t ever want to climb out of that cockpit and into another. Metaphorically speaking. 

Kylo. Beautiful, vibrant, messy and loving Kylo. The man who risked it all - his entire _psyche_ \- to stand up for what was right. The man who has proven time and time again that you **can’t beat the Light out of a loving soul** , and the man who has caused Poe to have several serious crises of faith of his own.

Not least of which being reconciling the legends-that-were Generals Leia Organa and Han Solo. And the Jedi Master, Luke Skywalker. General Org– _Leia_ \- whom he’s worked for, now, for years. Who he still somewhat reveres as his idol, but who also… fucked up… Meaningfully or not, she fucked up. And he respects her judgement utterly, and her authority, and her heart. He would follow her into battle, would go _ahead_ of her into battle, until he couldn’t fight any more. But still. She and Han made mistakes, and realising his childhood heroes were human - and capable of screwing up - and now were… his family too? It had been difficult.

So he’d asked her her permission, for him to ask Han for _his_ permission, to ask Kylo for his hand in marriage. Because she was Leia kriffing Organa. And because she was still that, no matter how many times she insisted on just _Leia_ , she would still be General Organa, Princess Leia, hero and mother of the Resistance. As well as… potential mother-in-law.

“I’m flattered you want to ask me, and my husband, but don’t you think it’s more _his_ choice than ours?” Leia had said.  


“…yes, but I’m…”  


“Being the gentleman,” Leia had finished.  


He’d nodded, guilty, and glad she understood.

“You have my permission to ask Han. Although I don’t see why you have to ask _me_ that.”  


“Because you’re…” General Organa. And Han Solo - for all Poe reveres him - isn’t _Leia_.  


“Then go ask him.”  


So he is. About to. He’s found the man working on the _Falcon_ , as ever. He loves that ship so much, and Poe can understand why. He runs an admiring hand over her hull, and waits for Han to reappear from inside his hole.

“You wanted to tell me something, kid?”  


Poe still kind of gets goosebumps whenever Han calls him that. Han called _Luke_ that, once, and whenever he remembers he’s worthy of the same kind of adoption into the family, it sort of… it’s a good feeling, okay? Being tolerated by Han. Even though Han’s also made mistakes, he… like Leia… they both _care_. And Han’s a prickly customer. Probably where Kylo gets a lot of his inability to be as open and forthright from. Poe very much wears his heart on his sleeve - always has - and to begin with he didn’t think Kylo was as into this as he was.

Oh, he was proven wrong. And how. Apparently that ‘still waters run deep’ thing is accurate. Kylo’s surface ripples hide a torrent of dark, deep, wonderful longing. You could drown yourself in it, if you wanted to. Dunk your head down, still breathe somehow, and stay lost in him forever.

And he’s now staring into the middle distance and not replying to Han. “Uhm. Yeah.” Poe finds himself uncharacteristically lost for words, tongue slipping out to taste the air, big toes wiggling inside his boots. 

“You planning on telling me, or is this some kind of charades? I gotta work out what’s going on in _your_ head, too? Ain’t enough that I got Leia to do that with?”  


“Sorry.” Poe blushes. “You know… Kylo and me…”  


“…yeah. You and my son.”  


Poe wonders why he could tell Leia, but he can’t tell Han. Leia maybe made him feel more at home, like… like a real part of the family, like he already _was_ her son-in-law. Han makes him feel very much like - well - he imagines Kylo feels around him. Confused, awkward, and twelve.

“Listen, hotshot, if you’re expecting some kind of ‘you hurt my boy and I’ll kill you’ from me, you probably forgot the part where my boy can read your mind and fly the eggs around the breakfast table. And frankly, you’re about as emotionally harmful as an Ewok is good at beating a Wookie in a top-shelf reaching contest.” Pause. “Which is to say not very.”  


The competitive side of Poe almost wants to launch into a list of ways he _could_ hurt Kylo, but that would involve actually thinking about hurting Kylo, and as such he baulks from it and squares himself up against him.

“He’s more sensitive than you think.”  


“No, I know how sensitive he is. He’s still wearing black, for Force’s sake,” Han tuts. “I changed his damn diapers and held his hand when he lost his favourite stuffed toy. Don’t tell me I don’t know my son’s got a soft side. Force-crap I might know nothing about, but my son’s feelings?” He throws down the grease-slick rag.  


And Han Solo rakes his eyes over Poe, and Poe feels like he’s being looked _way way into_ , like almost as deep as Kylo sees, but on a wholly non-Force-level. It’s strange. Han rarely shows such a keen focus on emotional things, and rarely takes the time to break away from his enforced ‘I am casual about everything I swear’ routine.

“You got a good heart, kiddo. You’d probably as soon fly into a black hole as hurt my boy. You’re the best thing that ever happened to him, and if he doesn’t realise that by now, there’s no hope for him at all.”  


Poe blinks. “…thanks. I… he does. I think.”

“No ‘think’ about it. My son loves you. And you’re good people. And if you weren’t, I’d already have tied you to the _Falcon_ and flown you out to Hutt space and kicked you off-ship with a gift tag attached.”  


“…so you wouldn’t object to me asking him to marry me?”  


Han stares. “What?”

“…your… son. I want to ask for his hand in–”  


“Why in the **blazes** would you ask me? It’s his damn hand. And life. And everything. What would you do if I said ‘no’? Go and cry to your squadron and break up with him over holo?”  


“What? No!”  


“Then why are you _asking me_?”  


“Because… it’s the right thing to do?”  


“Aye aye…” Han strides over, and grabs his shoulder. “Screw the ‘right’ thing. My son’s a grown man. Grown enough to make his own damn decisions. Just so happens this one is one we all approve of, and if you don’t get off your ass and ask him, we might just program that astro of yours to do it for you.”  


“What? No!”  


“You do realise we’ve been running a book on when - and who - would do it?”   


“But he’s your _son!”_  


“Yeah, and his mother won the damn bet. As ever.” Han clucks his tongue against his teeth. “Just go ask him. And when you’re done, remember to go tell Leia first. And then everyone on the damn base.” A slight smile. “About time you two got to be the focus of attention.”  


Poe wonders how in creation Kylo turned out as well-adjusted as he did, he really does. “Maker give me strength…”

“Oh, and you should know: his mom loves a big wedding. So you might want to run off somewhere and come back hitched, if you’re not prepared for that.”  


“…he hasn’t even said yes, yet.”

“If he doesn’t, I’ll airlock his ass. So… shoo.” Han waves at him. “Scram. Go pester him. And when you’re all done and dusted, come and ask me for advice on marrying a Force-sensitive. Because, let me tell you…”  


Poe wishes, in some senses, that he’d never even asked… but hey, at least it means they like him, right?


End file.
